I’m not afraid of death, unless death
is the grapevine beetle atop my air conditioner.
It’s too big to get in through the cracked screen
but I know it can get in through some fracture I can’t see
and it’s so big
it’s so, so big
I could step on it in the middle of the night
foggy-eyed
and leave a small crime scene
spotted carapace shattered
embedded in the rug
where it might clog the vacuum
so I should toss the rug entirely
but what if the grapevine beetle had a family
and it’s living in my air conditioner
and they lie dormant until I forget
and then they emerge from the vents
and I realize that the cold air for all this time
has been marred by Schrödinger’s larvae
and I can’t get my skin to feel clean
and I can’t think about anything else
but beetles